Wild surroundings in Wild Basin

When you look at the trail map you're given at the entrance to Rocky Mountain National Park, the distances look manageable and the contours look smooth. Even on my USGS topographic map, the contour lines advanced steadily and didn't look too close together.

I thought I would take the somewhat long, but well-traveled trail to Sandbeach Lake. I would then make my own way up the much shorter distance to the top of Mount Orton, just south of Mount Meeker and Longs Peak. There is no trail up Mount Orton, but the maps suggest a walk through high open woodland and then up alpine tundra slopes.

The trail begins at the park's Wild Basin entrance station. At first, there is a steep ascent by switchback up the rocky and dusty north valley wall. There are pines and aspens with dancing leaves, fallen branches and trunks with corkscrew roots and lichen-covered boulders.

Once I attained this initial elevation, I continued more gradually up and steadily west, high above North St. Vrain Creek. The creek sparkled in the bottom of the valley. Copeland Lake and many lesser ponds were blue under a bright sky.

I passed a trail intersection: 3.2 miles to Meeker Park. I heard sandy foot falls behind me and stepped to the side. A hiker passed, then broke into a trot up a slope and around a curve in the trail. I'm afraid I cannot do that.

About two miles in, I came alongside Campers Creek, a gurgly, mossy, intimate little flow. There was a one-foot waterfall into a three-foot pool and, along the bank, soft ecru toadstools on a carpet of moss.

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A little later, I crossed Hunters Creek, a broader stream with a no-fishing warning. The threatened Greenback cutthroat trout has been reintroduced here, and — sure enough — I saw one just upstream of the bridge. The stream parted around a five-foot boulder and poured into a deep pool. At the downstream edge of the pool, the fish hovered, periodically bobbed to the surface, swerved to one side and breached the surface. I could see no prey, but it was about noon and therefore lunchtime.

Downstream, another trout sat in an eddy, among stones on one side and drifts of organic debris on the other. The water was only a few inches deep, and the fish were only a few inches long, but it looked as though a population was establishing itself.

I climbed a final ridge, walked through open forest and emerged onto the shores of the aptly named Sandbeach Lake. I found a shady spot with a big log as a backrest. To the south and in the distance rose St. Vrain and Copeland Mountains. I settled down to a sandwich and a tomato, fresh from the garden.

Mount Orton was not visible from the beach, but the map assured me the peak was close. This is one of my problems. I regularly come upon an intersection or reach a destination and wonder what is down that way, around that corner or up that slope.

So I took a heading to the west and a little north and started up through trackless fir forest. I maybe didn't have to go this way, because there were lots of social trails that seemed to wander around the lake and even up the slopes. But I have been lured off my track many a time by human and animal trails that had no intention of going my way. I climbed west-northwest by compass.

The trees were close and intertwined. I climbed over and under fallen logs. Forest gave way to fields of car- and shed-size boulders. I climbed into trees again and the hot smell of fir. I'd strayed a little too far to the north, so I adjusted and clambered among more rocks.

To the north rose the imposing mass of Mount Meeker, the distinctive flat top of Longs Peak and the steep, sharp pyramid of Pagoda Mountain. I reached the tree line and hollows full of low, almost impenetrable krummholz. There were boulder fields, talus slopes and stretches of green tundra.

At about 3:30 p.m. I reached the final rock tower and climbed to the top. There was a pretty hogback ridge off to the northwest, reaching over to Chiefs Head Peak. Pagoda, Longs and Meeker still dominated the northern skyline.

Sandbeach Lake is a satisfying destination, but just a little more heroic, or maybe masochistic, motivation can bring still more thrilling rewards.

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